Across the noisy street
I hear him careless throw
One warning utterance sweet;
Then faint at first, and low,
The full notes closer grow;
Hark, what a torrent gush!
They pour, they overflow—
Sing on, sing on, O thrush!

Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing!
Meet the moon upon the lea;
Are the emeralds of the spring
On the angler's trysting-tree?
Tell, sweet thrushes, tell to me,
Are there buds on our willow-tree?
Buds and birds on our trysting-tree?